


Zombie

by RemyCampbell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anti-Donald Trump, Barricade Day, Barricade Day 2018, Enjolras listens for once, M/M, Modern Era, Tentative truces, The Cranberries, tentative friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyCampbell/pseuds/RemyCampbell
Summary: Barricade Day 2018, set in 2018. The current administration is utterly unacceptable and Enjolras is furious. Grantaire suggests a song that he thinks fits the mood. Alternatively: Enjolras actually listens for once. Alternatively: America needs the Friends of the ABC.





	Zombie

**Barricade Day 2018- This year’s fic is a little bit different. I’m angry at America. I’m disappointed in America. And I know that the Friends of the ABC would be too. Therefore, this goes off my “if they were in America” theory, but is in a different universe than “The Siren’s Song That Is Your Madness”.**

**This fic, then, is several things. It is first and foremost my offering for Barricade Day. It is also my condemnation of the current administration and cabinet members therein. As June 6th, is obviously, a part of June, this is also at least partially a Pride month fic. Lastly, it is a tribute to Dolores O’Riordan and the music of The Cranberries, which is beautiful and powerful and very often what I consider songs of the resistance. (I used the song War Child as part of a protest in high school...)**

**I hope you all enjoy.**

**~Remy**

**Oh. PS- I recommend a general soundtrack of the Cranberries while reading this. The song that specifically comes into play is the new Bad Wolves version of “Zombie”.**

**———————————-**

They knew that Mike Pompeo was going to be confirmed as Secretary of State. If they were being perfectly honest, they had known since before his hearing that he was going to be confirmed. Still, the Friends of the ABC had fought against it, calling and writing to senators, publishing articles online and in print, handing out fliers on campus urging their classmates to speak out against the nomination.

On the day of Pompeo’s confirmation hearing before the senate, as many of their group as could manage to get out of work or class set up a demonstration as close as they could to the capitol. They brought a projector screen and Feuilly managed to hook it up to C-Span on Courfeyrac’s laptop so they could watch the questioning live. They’d brought more fliers and several large signs, laying out Pompeo’s denial of climate change, approval of “enhanced interrogation tactics”, and disturbing views of the LGBT community.

Grantaire had made all the signs and designed the fliers, adding illusitrations and bright colors to make them eye-catching, insisting the entire time that Pompeo’s confirmation was a certainty and that they were all just wasting their time. He drove Enjolras, Combeferre, the projector, and the posters that were too large for public transportation to the event, blasting Green Day’s “21st Century Breakdown” and explaining that it was “great theme music for a protest”. Enjolras ordered him to turn it off, saying that he needed to focus before an event. He was surprised that Grantaire obeyed, and felt slightly guilty at the disappointed expression on the other man’s mismatched features.

Always the voice of reason and pragmatism, Combeferre pointed out that their rally was a clear success regardless of the Senate’s decision on Pompeo. Over one hundred people had shown up, students from half a dozen universities as well as community members who had heard about their event online. Hundreds of people took fliers from them and at least a few dozen had stopped to talk about how they could get more involved in political activity. Courfeyrac had done an excellent job of promoting the Friends of the ABC blog to the crowd. Enjolras had given a rousing speech on why resistance in the face of a corrupt administration was so vitally important.

Grantaire had sat a few yards away from the group, sketching the Capitol Building. Not that Enjolras had expected anything more. Not that he paid any attention to Grantaire’s antics anyway.

*********************************

The news about Rand Paul broke while they were at an event at American University.

Enjolras had always had his reservations about Courfeyrac’s friend Marius, but Marius’ girlfriend Cosette was remarkable. She ran a gender equality group on the campus of American University and was eager to partner with the Friends of the ABC on events. Working with an organization from another university broadened both of their bases and granted them both access to more resources. Musichetta had often complained about the general dearth of women in the Friends of the ABC, so working with Cosette also had the benefit of increasing their diversity.

On that day, Cosette had organized a lecture and luncheon on how to elect more women into public office. It was an issue that came up in discussion frequently amongst the Friends of the ABC and Cosette was eager to have members of their group represented at the event.

They organized the logistics at their next weekly meeting. As it was scheduled for noon on a weekday, few members of the Friends of the ABC were able to attend, but Marius, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and the projector that Cosette had asked to borrow were a sufficient delegation. Enjolras nearly jumped in surprise when Grantaire spoke from his usual spot at the back of their meeting room in the Musain Cafe and Student Center. He’d thought that their resident cynic would be too intoxicated to follow the conversation, let alone contribute in a constructive manner. “I’cn drive y’all there, ‘Pollo. So you don’ haveta take the projector on a bus.” Courfeyrac, who had actually tried to take the projector on public transportation in the past, expressed his intense gratitude. Enjolras simply nodded his assent, assuming Grantaire was too drunk to remember the offer in the morning.

He was mistaken.

Once again, Enjolras found himself a passenger in Grantaire’s rusty old station wagon. This time, Courfeyrac had selected the music, and apparently both Marius and Grantaire agreed that “The Greatest Showman” was an excellent choice. The trio sang along loudly to songs Enjolras was sure he’d heard before, though he couldn’t recall any of the words.

The event was wrapping up when Enjolras glanced down at his phone. Had it not been for the guest speaker, who was still in attendance, he would have started shouting on the spot at the news alert displayed on the screen.

Rand Paul Flips; Supports Mike Pompeo for Secretary of State

Enjolras was firmly attached to his phone for the rest of the event, stacking chairs and reorganizing tables with one hand while he read the latest reports about the change.

After the luncheon, Marius announced that he would be spending the afternoon with Cosette rather than return with the others. Enjolras simply nodded, having expected as much. What he didn’t expect was Courfeyrac’s statement that he was also remaining at American University. Apparently a few of the women in Cosette’s group were planning an afternoon trip to the movies to see the latest superhero film (Enjolras had lost track of which characters were in this one; they all purported to be about the fight for justice when they were really about upper class citizens getting in absurd battles that resulted in horrific collateral damage for the common people) and they’d invited Courfeyrac to join. “You and R will be okay getting the projector back on your own, right Enjolras?”

No. Enjolras did not want to be trapped alone in a car with Grantaire for 20 minutes, likely subjected to a rant about why Cosette’s lecturer was wrong and encouraging gender diversity in government was a pointless endeavor. He wanted to get back to his apartment as quickly as possible and start composing a blog post in response to Rand Paul’s shameful decision to endorse Mike Pompeo. But what choice did he have? Asking Courfeyrac to skip making new friends and seeing a movie he’d been talking about for weeks just to keep him company on a car ride was petty and absurd.

Apparently he’d waited too long to answer. Grantaire spoke up instead. “Yeah, I think we’ll manage to survive without killing each other. Won’t we, Apollo? No plans to smite me today, right?” He had that look in his eyes- that sad look that was completely incongruous with his familiar mocking grin that was securely stamped on his face. Something uncomfortable that tasted faintly of guilt twisted in Enjolras’ gut, as it always did when Grantaire looked that way.

“Well if I were going to smite you, I’d have the common sense to not do it while you were driving,” Enjolras answered easily. The pain clouding Grantaire’s expression faded slightly.

******************************************

  
“If you don’t get it out, Apollo, I think you may actually burst into flames from all that pent-up righteous fury.” Grantaire stated, breaking the silence between them. They’d been in the car for five minutes and neither had spoken a word. Enjolras was livid about things that had nothing to do with the cynic seated beside him and he wasn’t in the mood to start a shouting match. Given their track record, he decided that not saying anything was likely the best way to prevent arguing. Grantaire had also remained silent, not even switching on any music, which made that uncomfortable feeling within Enjolras rear its head again.

But once Grantaire had given him permission, Enjolras couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “Rand Paul said he would do everything he could to stop this nomination going through. A few weeks ago, he threatened to filibuster it. And now he’s claiming that he called Trump and chatted with Pompeo and decided it’s all fine, never mind, carry on, have fun being the Secretary of State? It’s absurd. And from what I’ve read of his reasoning, it centers around presence in Afghanistan. That wasn’t even Paul’s main concern with Pompeo when he threatened the filibuster.”

“This man is going to represent America to the world. He is going to interact with global leaders. His militant tendancies are absolutely a concern, and Paul knew that. But it’s so much more than that. Climate change? LGBT rights? He literally said at his hearing that he didn’t believe same-sex couples should get married. What is that going to do to the international LGBT community? When he interacts with leaders of nations where homosexuality is illegal? It’s dangerous!”

Enjolras paused to breathe before launching into his next argument, but suddenly stopped and looked at the surprisingly silent man next to him. “You’re not arguing,” he stated bluntly. “You’re not telling me I’m wrong or calling me naïve.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Apollo, and assuming that deep down you always knew he’d be confirmed. You’re pissed and that’s completely fair. If you were genuinely surprised or disappointed by what happened today, then I’d call you naïve.”

“You think it’s fair of me to be angry?” Enjolras knew what it sounded like. He was criticizing Grantaire for not criticizing him, which was idiotic. But he was genuinely surprised and he wanted to understand. Understanding Grantaire was a skill that consistently eluded Enjolras.

“I’d list off the dude’s flaws but you’ve spent the past two weeks screaming them at anyone who would listen. Everyone should be at least some sort of displeased about it, and since you do everything to the power of ten, anger is kind of a given.”

“Oh.” Enjolras wanted to ask more, wanted to try to understand why Grantaire would allow him to be upset by this but mock his frustration at so many other societal failures. But as was often the case with Grantaire, Enjolras didn’t know how to put it into words.

He was saved the trouble by his phone chiming; Combeferre had forwarded him a piece from the BBC about Rand Paul’s decision.

“No, this is unacceptable,” he began as he skimmed through the article. “Though I often disagree with Paul’s policies, I thought he had more integrity than this. To go-”

“Apollo, stop,” Grantaire said gently. Gently. Enjolras didn’t even realize the man had such a tone in his repertoire. It silenced him at once and only then did he realize that he had been shouting. “I want to play you a song, okay?”

“A song?” Enjolras snapped. “We’re in the middle of a discussion about the absolutely unacceptable nominee for Secretary of State who is now almost certain to be confirmed.”

“No, you’re in the middle of a rant about that. And you’re getting upset. Not the angry upset that makes you work harder and is all kinds of hot.” What? Enjolras opened his mouth to attempt some sort of response to that, but Grantaire barreled ahead. It seemed entirely possible that he hadn’t even noticed what he’d just said. “The bad upset when you feel like something is out of your control. Music can help with that and this song, well, I know it speaks to me when I get upset at a political thing so... Just listen, okay?”

“When on earth are you ever upset at a political thing?” Enjolras knew his tone was mocking. It was something that Courfeyrac and Combeferre had brought up with him on multiple occasions. Comments that he would usually say to his other friends in an offhand or teasing manner became suddenly cruel when he spoke to Grantaire. He’d tried to correct it; being mean to anyone was never his intention. But he simply didn’t understand Grantaire, and the confusion made him angry which made him rude.

Unlike his usual quick and caustic replies, Grantaire didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he fiddled briefly with his phone- Enjolras knew that Grantaire was a safe driver and bit back his order to put the phone down before Grantaire got them both killed- and cranked up the volume on the radio. “There’s this TV show that you probably don’t watch, Apollo, where the lead character tells everyone that the main rule of a car is that the driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole. Now, I’m not usually that guy. I’m more into a democratic process of music selection. Which probably makes you hate me just a little bit less. But for now, I’m going to go Winchester on you, tell you to shut your cakehole, and listen to this song.”

Enjolras knew very little about music, but he could tell from the opening notes that this band had a very unique sound, and that he was probably going to like it.

“This is actually a cover by a band called Bad Wolves,” Grantaire explained over the music. “The original was recorded in 1992 and this band was going to do a remix with the woman who wrote it, but she died the day they were going to be in the studio. So they did it without her and made it a tribute to her work. I think you’d like a lot of The Cranberries’ music, actually.”

The lyrics began and Grantaire fell silent.

**Another head hangs lowly  
Child is slowly taken  
And the violence causes silence  
Who are we mistaken?**

**But you see, it's not me  
It's not my family  
In your head, in your head, they are fighting  
With their tanks, and their bombs  
And their bombs, and their drones  
In your head, in your head, they are crying**

Grantaire was right. This song was agonizing and painful and beautiful and a perfectly accurate summation of the frustration at a world consumed by oppression and violence.

**What's in your head, in your head?  
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie  
What's in your head, in your head?  
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie, oh**

Enjolras realized that his eyes had fallen shut as he listened. He forced them open and glanced over at Grantaire. It was the most animated Enjolras had ever seen him when he was sober. His crooked mouth followed along with the words and Enjolras was sure that if Grantaire was alone in the car he would be singing along loudly. His large hands beat out a rhythm on the edge of the steering wheel. Though he kept his eyes carefully focused on the road, a part of his mind was clearly miles away, transported by the music just as Enjolras had been.

**Another mother's breakin'  
Heart is takin' over  
When the violence causes silence  
We must be mistaken**

**It's the same old theme  
In two thousand eighteen  
In your head, in your head, they're still fightin'  
With their tanks, and their bombs  
And their guns, and their drones  
In your head, in your head, they are dyin'**

Enjolras had never seen Grantaire look like this before. He was beautiful.

**What's in your head, in your head?  
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie  
What's in your head, in your head?  
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie, oh**

No, Grantaire was a cynic. Grantaire was obnoxious. Grantaire believed in nothing. But clearly that was wrong. Utterly wrong. No one could listen to this song and be moved like that and not believe in anything. Enjolras had been wrong. He wondered in what other ways he’d been wrong about Grantaire.

**It's the same old theme  
In two thousand eight-teen  
In your head, in your head, they're dyin'  
What's in your head, in your head?  
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie  
What's in your head, in your head?  
Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie,  
Oh oh oh oh   
Ie-ie, oh**

When the song ended, Grantaire shut off the radio. Neither of them spoke. Enjolras remembered the time that Jehan had said telling someone what books were your favourite was showing them a part of your soul. He wondered if sharing music was the same. It certainly felt like Grantaire had shown him something vitally important.

As the silence stretched out into awkwardness, Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire again. He was tense in a way he certainly hadn’t been before playing the song and his cheeks were oddly flushed. It occurred to Enjolras that Grantaire hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d be revealing by playing the song. He had to say something, had to tell Grantaire that it was alright, that even if Grantaire hadn’t planned on exposing himself in that way, Enjolras had liked what he’d seen.

Of course, his words never came out the way he wanted when Grantaire was concerned. “I didn’t know you actually cared about things in that way.” At least he’d managed to keep that sarcastic tone out of his voice.

Still, Grantaire flinched. “Believe it or not, I’m not stoked at the idea of a dude who thinks torture is cool and who called homosexuality quote, ‘an abomination in the eyes of God’ being the Secretary of State.”

“No, of course,” Enjolras amended. He knew that Grantaire supported equality and justice. Still, the idea that he felt frustration at society’s failure to deliver it... “That doesn’t mean you care about the agonizing feeling of watching a chosen few deny everyone else the right to a decent life.”

Grantaire laughed at that, a sharp and incredulous sound that Enjolras associated with fights at the Musain and Courfeyrac glaring at him like he was being particularly dense. “Apollo, that feeling is about eighty percent of my existence.”

“I thought alcohol was eighty percent of your existence,” snapped Enjolras. He winced as Grantaire visibly deflated.

“You know, there’s usually a reason behind that much alcohol.”

Well. That was a level of honesty he never expected to get from Grantaire. He tried to accept this new data quickly, to come up with a response that would show the other man that he was listening and valued the fact that he’d been told this. But it just didn’t assimilate with what he thought he’d known of the man.

“And the reason is hiding from a world that is flawed in a thousand different ways?” Enjolras prayed that Grantaire interpreted his words as an attempt to understand, not an accusation.

“I never told you your principles were wrong, Apollo.”

Enjolras failed utterly at his attempt to turn is scoff into a sneeze.

“Okay, well yeah,” Grantaire amended with a chuckle. “Sometimes your principles are completely stupid. But not usually. My objections are to your strategies, to the ridiculous policies that you want to implement to prop up good principles, or to the fact that you think anything you do will actually change anything at all.”

“And when you heckle me?” asked Enjolras, suddenly needing clarification on things he thought he’d understood for years.

“Sometimes it’s to get you to change your strategy, because a lot of your strategies are kind of awful. Sometimes it’s to talk through the ideas, play devil’s advocate, get you out of your echo chamber. Sometimes-” he broke off abruptly, shrugging.

Enjolras desperately wanted to know the other reasons for Grantaire’s behavior at meetings, but he let it go, assuring himself he’d bring it up again at a later date. “It does help strengthen my arguments. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Strangely, Grantaire seemed to be blushing again. “No, Apollo. You don’t ever have to thank me. Any bit of help I am is my way of trying to repay you for letting me stay at the meetings.”

“You’re a part of the group, Grantaire. Why on earth would you not be allowed at meetings? And no one needs permission to be there anyway.” The logical rebuttals came without hesitation, but a quieter part of Enjolras’ mind wanted to ask why on earth Grantaire thought so lowly of himself- and prayed that the frequent animosity between them had nothing to do with it. “Besides, it’s not just a bit of help. You assist me in strengthening my arguments, yes, but that’s just a part of what you do. This is the second time in as many weeks you’ve driven us to an event. You made all the signs and posters for the rally, as you often do. And they looked incredible. We’re all grateful for that.”

That sick guilty feeling flared up again as Enjolras watched Grantaire light up from the praise. As cynical as he was, Grantaire was always so easy to make happy. But Enjolras never bothered to do it. He didn’t think he’d even properly thanked him for the posters. Combeferre had, of course, but the light in Grantaire’s eyes always seemed brighter when it was Enjolras who thanked him.

“Well,” Grantaire began, attempting a casualness Enjolras was sure neither of them felt, “it appears we’ve arrived back at campus. I can deal with the projector if you have stuff you need to do.” They were parked in a spot just outside the Musain Student Center, to which the projector had to be returned. Enjolras was embarrassed to realize he wasn’t sure how long they’d been there.

“No, I’ll run in with it. You shouldn’t have to pay for parking just to drop this thing off.”

“Oh, um... thanks, Apollo.” Was Enjolras acting with basic decency toward Grantaire really so shocking that it left the other man flustered?

“Thank you, R.” It was the first time Enjolras had ever used the ridiculous nickname. He liked the way it felt in his mouth. He liked the way it made Grantaire smile. “Thank you for introducing me to that song.” Then, because everything he said to Grantaire was always wrong, so this couldn’t possibly be much worse, and because the country was going to hell and because the warm feeling in his gut felt so much better than the guilty one, he added, “Thank you for properly introducing me to yourself.”

Grantaire stared at him with his mouth open for a long moment, and Enjolras decided that making Grantaire speechless was much better than making him shut up. Finally, he stammered, “Thank you for noticing that.” Enjolras was suddenly sure that Grantaire had given him this opportunity to know him many times in the past and that he had simply missed the opportunity. He silently promised that he wouldn’t make the mistake again.

“And if you like that,” Grantaire continued, his typical genial tone back in place, “I’ve got plenty more. Songs, I mean. Actually a few playlists. I put them together over the years when I found songs that I thought fit and sometimes I listen to them when I’m working on posters for the group.”

“Yes, I’d like to listen,” Enjolras answered at once. Based on this one song, he liked Grantaire’s taste in music. And if just this one song had told him so much about this man with whom he was sure he could never get along, Enjolras was eager to see what a whole playlist would reveal. “Do you have them on your phone? I wonder if I know any of the songs.”

“Yeah, hang on,” Grantaire opened the music app on his phone and tapped on a folder labeled ABC. Although he kept his phone angled away, Enjolras could clearly see three playlists within it: “Preparing For Battle”, “Inevitable Defeat”, and “Apollo”. “Here. This is the one for days like today.” He handed Enjolras the phone with the playlist for “Inevitable Defeat” open.

“Only you would name a playlist this,” Enjolras grumbled, but he could feel the smile tugging at his face. He scanned the list of songs quickly. Some of the titles seemed vaguely familiar, but he wouldn’t be able to sing a line of any of them. “It looks like I’m in for quite a musical education here.”

“Well if you don’t know any of these songs, you need a damn musical education,” Grantaire countered. “Although I suppose it is comforting to know that you don’t actually know everything. The great god Apollo is not omnipotent.” Like so many firsts in this conversation, Enjolras didn’t feel the familiar twinge of annoyance at the absurd title.

“Thus why I have a team of knowledgeable friends to fill in the gaps.” Grantaire glowed at his words and Enjolras decided that this banter was worlds better than their usual verbal sparring.

“I’ll burn you CDs for the next meeting?”

“That would be excellent, thank you.” Enjolras was certain that he would only be receiving two discs. He decided that he would make it a private mission to one day learn what was on the “Apollo” playlist. “Now I really should be getting this projector back.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up.” Grantaire suddenly looked uncomfortable again.

“No, I was the one interrogating you about music. And if you hadn’t driven me, I’d still be on a bus with this damn thing. Again, thank you.” There was the smile. Enjolras decided that the expression did wonders for Grantaire’s mismatched facial features.

He climbed out of the car, projector in hand, and turned toward the Musain Building, but was stopped by a loud call of, “Hey, Apollo!” Grantaire was leaning across the passenger seat to speak to him through the open window.

“Yes, R?”

“I’m sorry today sucks. I really am. But best and worst case scenario, if he’s absolutely horrible, you can start a campaign to get him impeached or something. You’ll get them and when this disaster that American politics is becoming starts getting fixed, your name will be at the top of the list of reasons why.”

“This from the man who believes in nothing,” Enjolras muttered, more as a reflex than anything else, certainly not expecting Grantaire to overhear.

But of course he had. “Come on, Enjolras,” he answered, and Enjolras didn’t know what to make of the tone in his voice. “You have to know by now that if nothing else, I believe in you.” He let the silence drag on for several long seconds, this time Enjolras the one who was left in open-mouthed speechlessness. Then he spoke again, that cheeky grin that usually drove Enjolras up a wall firmly in place. “And when you’re President, take comfort in the fact that Secretary of State Combeferre won’t have any of these issues!”

He drove off without another word.

Enjolras walked into the Musain, put away the projector, and sat down at an empty table to start working on the Friends of the ABC’s blog post discussing Rand Paul’s vote change. Before getting started, he opened YouTube in a separate window and cued up a Cranberries playlist as background music.

  
**==========================  
A few points-**

**  
*I’ve never written an overtly political fanfic before. It was an interesting experience.**

***No, I do not agree with Enjolras on superhero movies.**

***Yes, I have a version of R’s playlist, but mine is all in one big file. May have to take his suggestion to organize it better.**

**“Just as fires light up the whole city, revolutions light up the whole human race. And what revolution shall we bring about? ... The revolution of the true. From the political point of view, there is one single principle: the sovereignty of man over himself. This sovereignty of myself over myself is called Liberty." ~Enjolras, Victor Hugo**

 


End file.
